Basic Training
by poestheblackcat
Summary: "McDonald Boys" verse, post-"Sky's Gonna Open." Being on a team means that you may have your specializations, but you must also swap skill sets with the others, no matter how painful the process may be.
1. Hardison

Summary: "McDonald Boys" verse, post-"Sky's Gonna Open." Being on a team means that you may have your specializations, but you must also swap skill sets with the others, no matter how painful the process may be.

This is a collection of one-shots (one for each member of the original _Leverage_ team) that takes place roughly in the same time frame as "The House Rules."

Inspired by various PM conversations (and I'm pretty sure they were with several different people…).

* * *

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**Basic Training**

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**Hardison**

Sharing trade secrets with Hardison goes the smoothest.

"So you do a little abracadabra here and _bam!_ Like that?" Hardison taps some keys and a few green sparks fly from his fingertips as he does so.

Lindsey nods from his seat next to him. "That's right. Just like that. But watch the wrist flick. That's important."

"This is amazing," Hardison says, a large grin spreading on his face, as he realizes exactly what he can do with this new technomagic.

A small, satisfied smile plays around Lindsey's lips. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Hey geek squad!" Eliot calls, "Dinner!"

"Yeah, in a minute," the hacker and the new hitter say simultaneously, and turn their attention back to the computer screen in front of them.

"So what d'ya do after that?" Hardison asks.

Lindsey leans forward and pushes Hardison's hands aside to show him exactly how to do it. "Then you do this…"

"So you can…And…"

"Yeah. How…I never thought of _that_ before. Good work, Hardison."

"It's easy! Because the backdoor has a tripwire, so you just hafta get rid of that, right?"

"Yeah."

"_Yeah. Duuuuude."_

Eliot rolls his eyes. Two peas in a pod. No, make that "two geeks in an iPod." Or…whatever.

Nerdy little brothers.

"Age of the geek, baby!"

"Who you callin' 'baby,' _boy?"_

"It's a- How old are you, man?"

"Not seven, that's for sure. Eliot's the baby."

"Hey!" Eliot hollers, "Food's gettin' cold. Getcher asses over here or this 'baby' ain't gonna be responsible for keepin' Parker away from yer dessert. Blackberry pie."

"Be right there!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

AN: Lindsey knows what "baby" means - He lived in LA for goodness' sake! He's just pulling Hardison's leg because it's fun to mess with a little brother-type friend.


	2. Parker

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**Parker**

"No."

The wind whips through Lindsey's hair as he adamantly refuses to put the harness on.

Eliot smirks. "Are ya scared?"

Lindsey snorts. "Nice try. No."

"Just put it on, Linny!" Eliot growls, tugging at Lindsey's crossed arms.

"No. I don't need it," Lindsey says, and pulls his arms out of his brother's grip.

"What if you're cornered at the top of a really tall building by a security team with guns, and the only way down is off the side?" Parker asks, "What are you gonna do then?"

"Jump," Lindsey replies with a slightly vague smile.

"Without a harness? You're crazy," Parker huffs, scowling. "You'll splat."

Lindsey purses his lips and nods. "Wanna test that theory?" he asks and runs to the edge of the building before she can reply.

Eliot and Parker rush after him, but skid to a stop in shock when he dives right over the side._ "Wahoooo!"_

"He's crazy. _Was_ crazy," Parker says and pats Eliot's head in a Parkerish, somewhat consolatory manner. "Sorry he's dead, Eliot."

"I'm not dead, and I'm not crazy," Lindsey says, lightly hoisting himself back up over from the other side of the ledge.

Parker tilts her head at him. "Oh. Magic," she says, comprehending. "You can fly."

Lindsey smiles.

Eliot rolls his eyes (and contemplates punching his brother in _both_ kidneys _really hard_ for scaring him like that, suicidal idiot).

Lindsey catches the suddenly lunging boy and digs his fingers into Eliot's ticklish spots to make him stop trying to hit his lower back.

Jumping off of buildings with Parker? Check.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

AN: Notice how I reuse some of the dialogue from previous stories, like having Lindsey say, "You scared?" in the Caritas fic in order to get Eliot to sing, and then having Eliot say it to Lindsey here? That's on purpose, and is definitely not me running out of ideas. *shifty eyes*


	3. Eliot

AN: This one has flashbacks in it. The "Then" bits take place directly after the sixth chapter of "Three Times Eliot Showed Up At Eliot's Place" (titled "Epiphany").

(Was this one from a convo with saides? I really need to keep track of where I get my ideas…)

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**Eliot**

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_**Now**_

"Hit me!" Lindsey shouts. "Harder! You can hit harder than that, Eliot!"

"I am!" Eliot yells back, face red. He lunges at Lindsey again.

Lindsey scoffs, "You're not even trying!"

Eliot's fist flashes out again.

"Faster! Come on, Eliot! Faster!"

Sweat trickles down Eliot's face from the effort.

"Hit me, ya weak, useless midget!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_**Then**_

"Hit me!" Eliot screams. "Harder! Come on, you can hit harder than that!"

"I am!" Lindsey hollers back, chest heaving. He punches Eliot again and again.

Eliot sneers, "You ain't even trying!"

Lindsey's fist connects again and again.

"Faster! Come on, Lindsey! Faster! Hit me! Hit me!"

Lindsey face turns red with the effort. "I _am_ hittin' you!"

"No wonder that vampire keeps beatin' your ass," says Eliot scornfully, "You're a dickless wimp!"

"Aaaaaaauuuuuurrrrrrrhhhhhhh!"

Suddenly, Eliot's on the ground, having bounced off of the wall behind him with enough force to knock the breath out of him. Lindsey's standing in front of him with his hand outstretched, glaring at him.

"I ain't!" he pants. "That ain't true."

"No, you're a cheat," Eliot replies as he gets up, unruffled. "You wanted me to teach you ta fight? Learn the right way, college boy. No cheatin'…until ya get the basics down."

He gets into a fighting stance. "Now hit me again."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_**Now**_

Eliot takes a few steps back and lowers his fists.

"Now what're ya doin'?" sneers Lindsey. "Backing down?"

"Aaaaaaauuuuuurrrrrrrhhhhhhh!"

Thy running tackle surprises Lindsey for a split second, which leaves him with just enough time for him to catch Eliot, but not enough to keep from falling backwards onto the mat, with his seven-year-old twin whooping a war-cry on top of him.

Lindsey groans. "Okay. I think you're as good as you're gonna get for your pipsqueak size. Now get offa me so I can go ice my bruises. An' help me up 'cause I think you broke something."

Eliot scoffs. "Baby."

But he gives his brother a hand anyway because he really was giving his all and it was nice of Lindsey let Eliot use him as his own personal punching bag for three hours.

Hitting something really is the best stress reliever.

But hitting some_one_ is the bestest.

Even if he does owe Linny an entire batch of peanut butter cookies _and_ a blackberry pie to eat all by himself.


	4. Sophie

AN: What's that, Poesie? Two new chapters less than 12 hours apart? That's like...a miracle! Okay, sarcasm aside, I thought I might as well, since I have them all written up. Enjoy!

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**Sophie**

"Uh, Nate?" Eliot whispers. "Can I talk to you?"

In front of them, Sophie is coaching Lindsey on the basics of grifting.

Nate tears his gaze away from the spectacle that is Lindsey McDonald. "Hmm? Uh, yeah?"

"This isn't going to work," Eliot sighs. "He's really, really bad at acting. Like Parker bad. Only she's probably better at it now than he is. Think Sophie on the stage bad."

"Yeah, I can see that," Nate says quietly, looking over at Sophie, who is (almost) calmly trying to teach a frustrated Lindsey how to act like someone else.

"I've done this before!" Lindsey shouts, tugging his hair in exasperation. "I can do it!"

"Then show me!" Sophie exclaims, with a wide, carefully-calculated, expressive sweep of her arm.

"No, I mean it," Eliot insists. "He can fool people, but only if they're _really_ stupid. I mean, if you tell him he has to _act_. You gotta say it another way. Like 'convince' or 'bribe.' Give him a reason."

"Hm." Nate cogitates for a few minutes, watching Lindsey carefully.

"No, you're too tense," Sophie says, putting her hands on her student's shoulders and sliding them down his arms in a quick, brisk motion. "Relax! Here, shake out your arms like this!" She demonstrates. "And _brrrrrrr. Brrrrrrr_ with me, Lindsey."

Lindsey sighs and follows her example somewhat less enthusiastically. "Br." He sighs and catches Eliot's eyes. _Help?_

Eliot snorts. _Nope, sorry Linds._

Nate leans over and says thoughtfully, "Eliot, I have a job for you."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Fifteen minutes ago, Eliot had run over to them and whined, "Sophie, I'm boooored. Can Lindsey take me to get ice cream? Pleeeeeease?"

He'd pasted on the overly-sweet puppy-eyed expression that he _knew_ only worked on Lindsey (and sometimes Hardison) and tugged on their hands like, well, a little kid, so she'd known that he was up to something, and after a quick glance at Nate, that it was under his orders.

"Well," she'd said, playing along.

"Y'know, I could use a break. You probably could, too," Lindsey had said, a tad desperately, not even noticing the fact that Eliot was in con mode. "Half an hour?"

"Half an hour," she'd agreed in her teacher voice. "Not one minute more, alright?"

"Fine. Great," Lindsey had said, and hustled Eliot out the door.

"What are you up to, Nate?" she'd asked once the McDonalds were clear.

"Wait and see," he'd replied, picking up a remote.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Now, they stand in front of the office's six television screens and watch the footage streaming live from the button cam attached to the front of Eliot's beanie.

"He's actually not half bad," Sophie says, head tilted, critiquing.

"Hm," grunts Nate, satisfied. "Eliot gave me the idea."

Sophie casts a curious look at him. "Yeah?"

He nods. "He told me you have to say it differently and give him a reason."

Sophie huffs, amused. "You mean all I had to say to get Lindsey to act was, 'I betcha you can't'?"

Nate chuckles. "Looks like."


	5. Nate

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**Nate**

Lindsey stares at Nate from across the chess board, trying to predict his next move, and the three moves after that. He narrows his eyes, watching for a tell.

"You're thinking too twisty, Linny," Eliot grins from his seat next to him, as he loses, _again._

* * *

_Thirty-two minutes later…_

"Not twisty enough. Try harder," Eliot says, then _giggles_.

Lindsey growls and shoves his brother away so that he's _not_ leaning on him. "Stop helping me!"

* * *

_Three hours later…_

"Check. Mate," Lindsey says, and grins triumphantly at Nate. "Yes!" he pumps his fist, "See that, Eliot? Can too."

Looking down, he realizes that the warm weight making his legs fall asleep is the brother whom he has only just noticed is lying half in his lap and half on his own chair, with his head cushioned on Lindsey's thigh and one arm dangling limply off of the chair seat. It looks to be a very uncomfortable position, but the slow, even breaths say otherwise. And the drool. Eliot's drooling. On Lindsey's lap. Ew.

"He's been asleep for the last twenty minutes," Nate says softly.

Lindsey blinks down at the sleeping boy in his lap. Even now, after he has gotten used to the fact that his big brother is now a kid, moments like this, when Eliot allows his vulnerability to show with such childlike trust, make Lindsey pause and contemplate the (oftentimes crazy) what-ifs and wherefores of their lives. He puts a hand on the slumbering boy's head and runs his fingers gently through the perpetually-tangled curls.

He's essentially raising his twin brother. He thinks, well, maybe this time, this time, he can change things, certain things, so that Eliot won't grow up to be one of the world's most effective and experienced killers, so he won't have to lose that tentative innocence that has been restored to him. Maybe, maybe it's a second chance. Maybe…

As he's reflecting, he realizes…

"No witnesses. I won and there were no witnesses." His head bounces off of the cleared chess board with a dull, despairing thud. "No fair."

"Nope," Nate says with a small smile, as if he knows exactly what Lindsey had been thinking a minute ago, "New game?"

Lindsey groans. "I gotta put the kid to bed first. Meanwhile, you can pour me a stiff one, and then we'll see how many times I can beat you again."

Nate smirks. "You mean how many times I can beat _you_ again, don't you?"

Lindsey scoffs over the softly snoring Eliot's shoulder. "As if. I'm gonna beat you at your own game, Ford. Just you wait and see."

Nate looks after the unlikely pair, an odd ache in his chest even as the corners of his mouth threaten to turn up. Eliot's transformation has caused the entire team to change and adapt to their hitter's new size, but none of them has evolved as much as Lindsey has. He had once been a sullen, disillusioned young man, but now, he has become less selfish and more open, caring more about others' feelings. And most importantly, he has learned the value of trust.

As he pours whiskey for himself and gin for the hitter, he reflects on the significance of Lindsey allowing Nate to pour him a drink without him standing nearby, carefully watching to ensure that no drugs or potions are slipped in with the drink.

Lindsey walks back into the room just as Nate's resetting the board. "He's out."

"How're the nightmares?" Nate asks, handing him his glass. Ever since Lindsey's installation in the Leverage team, Eliot has alternated between Nate's apartment and Lindsey's, gradually spending more and more time at his brother's place than at Nate's.

Lindsey frowns for a moment, as if taken by surprise by the question. "He still has them." He snorts softly. "Ends up in my bed about once a week at the very least."

"You don't mind." It's not a question.

Lindsey shrugs, still slightly uncomfortable about sharing his brother's vulnerabilities, even with Nate. "Nah, we shared a bed for the first thirteen years of our lives. Subconscious probably remembers it or something." He sets the glass down on the table and begins to say something, but stops.

"Alright," he says instead, seating himself, "White goes first. That's you."

"Wanna switch?" Nate asks, in a deceptively off-hand manner as he sits across from Lindsey.

Lindsey's eyes snap up to meet Nate's. "You're always white."

Nate simply smiles and spins the board a half-circle. "Now you are."

The ex-lawyer blinks a couple of times. "How's my hat?" he asks softly, hesitantly.

The mastermind allows the smile to spread. "A little more faded than it used to be. It suits you." He glances down at the board. "Your move."

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* * *

AN: The hat thing is a reference to the obvious "white hat" line from _Leverage_, but it is also a self-reference to "The Sky's Gonna Open," when Lindsey scoffs at the idea that he is a good guy and mentions that his hat is still a lot greyer than Eliot's.


End file.
